I love to cuddle up with my little family but when it comes to expressing physical affection, my children could not be more different. My spitfire Hadley has little interest in warm fuzzies; she is too busy conquering the world to waste her time with nonessentials such as touching her fellow humans.

The only exception is when she is puking her guts out and clings to me like a koala. Call me crazy but snuggles should not include projectiles of any kind.

Especially when that projectile is vomit.

I used to have a difficult time accepting her lack of endearment towards me until I recognized that she just expresses herself in different ways. I.e. saying “I love you” repeatedly throughout the day or generously eating all the cookies in front of me because she knows they are not on my diet.

My son Bode was exactly what this snuggle-deprived mama ordered and at 23 months old, he still freely kisses and hugs me. After a few days with Grandma when I was sick last week, we raced towards each other like a scene out of Chariots of Fire (juxtaposed against his 4-going-on-14-year-old sister who warily looked at me as if to say, “Oh yeah. YOU.”)

My solution for the vast divide between the two of them is to force “Family Snuggles.” This has become a nightly ritual as we all pile on Grandma’s Mama’s Featherbed and pin them down as they giggle their objections.

I still remember the first breakthrough I had with Hadley’s lack of physical affection. When she was 2 years old, we were bouncing around on my bed before bedtime when she stopped, plopped herself down on my pillow, put her arm out and announced, “SNUGGLE!”

Shocked, I asked, “Did you say snuggle?” She nodded and repeated herself again. I didn’t hesitate a moment longer and dove right in like an attention-starved puppy. With tail wagging.

Now, lest you think I converted her to Family Snuggles, think again. She laid there for her obligatory 10-second snuggle as if she was counting down the moments. She then plopped back up and announced we were “Alllllll twue” (in Haddie speak: I gave you what you want so can you pul-ease stop attacking me, Woman?)….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

I never fancied myself a ballerina, which is particularly ironic since I’m walking on my tiptoes a lot these days. And also on eggshells.

My 21-month-old Bode has transformed almost overnight from a loving, cuddly, easy-going angel to an often possessed, tantruming toddler. Of course, I know I should have expected that such bliss could not last.

I remember shortly after my daughter Hurricane Hadley turned 3 she went through a phrase I called The Tyrant. When I offered suggestions for a snack, I braced myself for the unleashing of how dare I even suggest something so unthinkable as apples. When I pretended to turn her into a princess with my magic wand, I was sent to the dungeons because I held the wand at the wrong angle. Anything set her off, which made me wonder if she had some kind of chemical imbalance.

Or if it was the fact that she was 3.

I’ve heard from some that the 3s are worse than the 2s. Doubting Thomas that I was, I didn’t buy in. But then there I was: sold out.

We had one uncharacteristically good day with what I would consider to be a reasonable amount of T.O.N. (Tantrums Over Nothing). We were sitting on our leather sofa watching out the window for my husband Jamie to come home. I looked down at how precious she was being and decided she needed some positive reinforcement.

“You know, Mommy is so happy with how sweet you’ve been today. Thank you for being so nice to your brother Bode and me.”

Within seconds, seconds people, she started acting up and it did not stop the rest of the night.

As we were eating dinner, she miraculously downed most of the curry chicken phyllos I made and I decided again: positive reinforcement.

“Haddie, what a great eater you’re being tonight!”

Within milliseconds, milliseconds people, she choked out her food and spewed it all over the floor. Jamie looked at me dubiously.

“Hey Amber. Here’s a new parenting strategy for you. How about ditch this positive reinforcement crap and STOP WITH THE COMPLIMENTS.”

We’ll begin our book tour next month.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Last weekend was my 3-year-old daughter Hadley’s first – and last – dance recital. We invited the entire family out for the occasion, an event we knew would go down as yet one more painful chapter in the Johnson Family History of Dysfunction.

You see, Hadley has inherited my lack of rhythm. Instead, she has a raw, aggressive athleticism that makes her adept at climbing mountains, scaling large buildings and reducing her competition to tears at any sign of weakness (the latter of which I have been submitted to since she was born).

I hoped an early intervention would counteract her lack of groove but I was wrong. Early on, it became painfully clear that she is not made for the dance floor. Her only redeeming quality is she loves an audience, as was evidenced by her performance at the recital.

While most of the little girls timidly and gracefully danced, Hadley did her toe-heel kicks like she was crushing a philandering ex-boyfriend. She spun like a rabid Tasmanian devil. And then, when all the girls were linking hands in a circle, Hadley decided this was her moment and she brazenly improvised a solo performance. Until those lacking in vision reeled her back in, that is. (The legendary dance will likely be coming to a YouTube near you).

We laughed until we cried but quickly acknowledged that this is not her passion and so our quest continues to explore and discover her talents. To encourage, not crush The Dream because believe me, I know all about the crushing….

When I was young, I dreamt of singing on Broadway and would perform to my Annie and Sound of Music 8-Tracks for hours. Problem was I couldn’t carry a tune but that did not dissuade me. Until Lisa Low came on the scene.

Lisa was a girl at church who was the complete antithesis of me. She was petite, sweet, sang like an angel and was a fantastic actress. I was also extremely jealous of her. Whatever athletic or academic prowess I possessed seemed to pale in comparison to her. One Sunday when I heard her song-bird voice, I snapped. Suddenly, it became the most important thing in the world to out-sing her the only way I know how: in volume.

As I sang louder, she rose to the occasion matching me with her melodic voice. Back and forth it went until we were both practically shouting. Exasperated, she finally turned to me.

“Amber, will you please stop? You are singing way too loud!”
“You are singing just as loudly as me,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I sound good!”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

When I recently retrieved my 3-year-old daughter Hadley from preschool, her teacher pulled me aside.

“I need to talk to you about Hadley,” she said in that voice. The same cautionary voice my third-grade teacher used right before she wrote on my report card that I had “verbal diarrhea.”

Shockingly, the report was positive.

“Hadley is doing such a great job with her letters! Not only is she really advanced on sounding them out but she is already piecing them together in words. You must be regularly working on them with her at home?”

After retrieving my jaw from the floor, I paused long and hard. Should I tell her that my kids are addicted to “The Letter Factory” DVD by LeapFrog? And that perky tadpole Tad is even inspiring my 1-year-old Bode to sound out his letters, like a stuttering infant prodigy, with very little help from me?

“Why yes, we have been working on them at home. Regularly. Nice to know it is paying off.”

Note: This was not a complete lie. I just failed to divulge who “we” included.

This is not the first time one of my children has been taught and inspired by television. When Hadley was 23 months old she acquired a new best friend I despised. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some snobby mom who doesn’t let her kid play with a certain sort of people. But this friend? Well, he’s purple. And he’s a dinosaur, fer heaven’s sake. And he’s annoying.

Yes, Hadley was obsessed with Barney – the very show I vowed I’d never expose her to. And I didn’t. The blame goes to Grandma who innocently introduced her, obviously not knowing the ramifications. Who could’ve known he would be the ONLY one in the whole world who could calm her down when she woke up moody from her naps? Or that his love song to her at the end of the show “I love you, you love me,” could make her combust into a fountain of tears because she knew their time together was drawing to a close. Or that she would lie awake at night wondering what her offspring would look like if she and Barney ever had babies together.

After watching Barney one day, we went to run some errands. For months, I had been incessantly reciting 123s and ABCs wherever we went. She would occasionally list off a number just to shut me up but really, her attentions were focused on learning the alphabet. So when I was in the car with her, I turned my focus back to numbers as I attempted to teach her how to say she was “2 years old,” in honor of her birthday at the end of the month.

She gave me her typical teen-aged “Why are you bothering me, Mother,” look and then casually blurted out, “1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10.” I stopped, shocked. “Did you just count to 10, Hadley?” She repeated herself, this time throwing in the number 11 for good measure. Showoff.

I was practically jumping for joy! Finally, all those countless hours of teaching her, of slaving over her growth had finally paid off! I had a glimmer of hope that I was making at least some difference in her life! Bursting with pride, I wanted acknowledgment and gratitude for my efforts. “Hadley, who taught you to count to 10?”

“Barney!!!!!!!!”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog